It's the Wrong Kind of Place
by Geisted
Summary: The town of Jericho, trapped in the midst of tragedy, fights to survive the devastation of the United States. Now they've found a survivor... just a single one from Bass Lake. But how much will this boy affect the town's fate? An unlikely split from canon at S1E04, "Walls of Jericho."
1. Bass Lake - Alive?

|**Author's Note**|

Long story short, this is what happens when NaNoWriMo ends.

For anyone wondering, yeah, no Phantom Planet here. There're a couple ways I thought about incorporating it, but...the apocalypse kind of already happened. Sorry, Danny. It just wasn't in your hands this time.

For anyone who's a Jericho fan and doesn't know the DP story, I'll try to make this understandable for both fanbases.

**Important note**: This chapter has spoilers, especially for the first few episodes of Jericho (which is available on Netflix, hint hint). DP will be kind of AU, for obvious reasons.

**Official Disclaimer**: I don't own/claim to own Jericho, its cast, or its story. The same goes for Danny Phantom. (Unless you're counting boxed DVD sets. I own those.) I don't own Netflix either, in case anyone couldn't tell.

*throws document at site and runs*

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_20 miles outside of Jericho, Kansas..._

_14:20_

A decent-sized lake filled the area beyond the dirt path, the murky water shimmering amongst willows and trees. There were shapes at rest in various places: under the trees, near the water, in groups close together in between the two.

"There it is," Heather Lisinski pointed, small features hopeful, though there was yet dread. It would be wrong to say that none of them feared what they would find; at this point, there was little besides fear to occupy their emotions. And that little amount was hope. Hope for life. Hope for health. Hope for survival and survivors.

She sat in the passenger seat of a police cruiser; one of three vehicles approaching Bass Lake. The other was a similar sedan used by Jericho's sheriffs, the third, an ambulance. Intended to be put to good use... The volunteers hoped, both silently and not, that there would be people left to help.

All and everyone arriving hailed from the same place. Jericho, a town that continually struggled to hold itself together. There was only so much they could do to keep their sanity and their humanity. Nothing else was expected from them. After all, they had waited out the storm that was a nuclear apocalypse.

A man suffering from radiation sickness had made his way to their town. Broke into a pharmacy, trying to reach out to them for help. Victor Miller was his name, for the people who cared to remember. He no longer lived, but he managed to tell them something.

A lake. A lake with a boat dock. Near a dirt path. Not so far from Jericho.

In what turned out to be his final moments, Victor confirmed that there were around twenty survivors of the bombs by the lake; twenty lives, including his daughter, that had escaped from Denver, Colorado to find shelter. And that was at least 150 miles away...

Jake Green, in the driver's seat of one of the cars, looked on. Assessed the situation from afar. Things looked grim as nothing appeared to move, and the man knew the chances of them recovering while Victor had already succumbed to his pain were slim. But he had to hope. What else was there in this devastated country but hope and prayer?

Slowly, the three vehicles stopped along the dirt path. People emerged, about a baker's dozen of volunteers who were brave enough to assist the strangers. Jake and his brother Eric were among the first to approach the figures; still hoping. Still wishing, praying, although now they were more hesitant in their thoughts.

The short-haired Heather trailed after them, Emily Sullivan and the rest of the group not far behind the duo. They all examined their surroundings: the swaying trees, casting moving, speckled shadows on the soft ground. Green grass which was healthy and covered most of the earth, but the water was slightly clouded.

Most of their eyes remained on the figures, which in turn remained still. Hearts skipped beats as they stared on, hoping. Watching, fixated on chests and faces for movement; for breath, for cries, for anything at all. But they stayed quiet. They stayed silent, as silent as the volunteers' voices.

There were no words for what they saw, and there never would be. The shapes that rested at the bases of the trees, the ones at the shore, nearest to the water. Every one was irrevocably, sorrowfully motionless.

A gentle breeze caressed those who were mourning the loss of the nameless refugees. Emily had a hand to her mouth, hazel eyes wide. Long, blonde hair disturbed by the wind went unnoticed; it was irrelevant. And everything else seemed as insignificant as that at the very sight.

Jake milled about, his gaze occasionally flicking from the group to the lake. He watched as the volunteers walked around, unsure of what to do. They had been hoping. He had been hoping. A few stooped to close the eyes of the ones who had passed from the radiation sickness. A few others kneeled to triple-check for vital signs. Others still were simply shell-shocked.

Eric and Heather, notably, were somehow managing all three at the same time. Jake himself was not doing much better. Crouching down, he scooped up a child's doll that had been left alone. Pieces of bark and gravel, grime and dust stuck fast to it. Respectfully, he brushed it off and replaced it in a better spot, against the blanket of a refugee.

He stood and dragged his hands down his face, mentally exhausted from everything that had transpired that day. The tavern and the hospital both had been running out of gas for the generators; he, his brother, and Heather had narrowly managed to find enough fuel before lives were lost. And yet they lost Victor Miller anyways.

His hands slid down until they dropped to his sides, fisted, then not. His stance was loose but ever so slightly guarded as he sighed, inaudibly. His dark irises glanced around again, taking in the quiet atmosphere of the wind, the water, and the trees. He didn't even try to avert his gaze from the still figures. There was no use in denying their existence.

And then he looked up, if only to stare at the sky and wonder why it could dare to seem so clean and peaceful after a day like this. But Jake Green's eyes were not interested in the blue expanse, for they instantly locked onto something else above.

Barely ten feet above him and to his right, off to the side of the lake, was a tree. He hardly needed to crane his neck to see it; while a little taller than the rest, it wasn't breaking any records. The tree itself could perhaps be called nondescript. Normal, as average as the averageness of the police car which he commandeered to drive here.

Its cargo, however, was not. For there was another figure in the trees; smaller, slighter, nestled into the crook of a strong branch. A child or a young teenager, from what he could tell. Jake glanced at the others, who hadn't noticed. Should he even hope? Either way, the body would have to be moved eventually... The grim thought echoed inside his mind.

Solemnly, he made his way around the base of the tree, searching for footholds, low branches he could grasp for support. It had matured at an angle, which made climbing it that much easier. The man scaled it without any trouble. Eric, Heather, and Emily had found their attentions focus on him, having since noticed the figure for themselves.

Heather and Emily watched with a special kind of sadness, being schoolteachers themselves. Any child's suffering was enough to turn their voices silent.

Jake quickly arrived at one of the tallest branches where the shape stayed, unmoving as it was. Looking down and surveying his situation, he determined that it was safe to maintain his weight on the lower branches he presently stood on. Shifting his position a little, he moved around the trunk so that he could get a closer look at the child curled up in the crook of the tree.

A sharp inhale. He held his breath, forcing the world to be as still as he could make it. The wind continued on, whistling gently through the small canopy beside the lake. Some branches swayed with it, others remained stoic. He didn't care to notice those, because he kept his attentions on the strong branch just a foot or two in front of him.

Now that Jake was nearer, he saw that the figure was a teenager. Fifteen, sixteen at the most. Unkempt raven hair and eyes that were closed; he wasn't able to determine their color. A boy, pale as death itself, small and nestled against the trunk. He continued to stare, praying. _Just one. Let us save one... just this one_...

They already had twenty bodies to bury. They didn't want to make it twenty-one. Nobody did.

A moment passed and there was no movement. Jake's eyes were staring, watering; unshed tears visible against the slightly red sclera. He could feel his throat constrict, throb with the attempt to choke down his tears. _We couldn't even_...

A small hand twitched, and for the briefest second, the mayor's son thought he had imagined it. The hand of the teen moved again, only a little, but even a little was enough for Jake Green. He swallowed, swung his startled gaze to his friends. The man blinked, releasing a shaking exhale, unable to form words either in his mind or his mouth.

As his head hung low and he focused on his breathing, he realized that his brother hadn't seen the boy's movement. He shook his head before raising it once more, still clutching onto the trunk of the tree. He caught Eric's eye with his own gaze. "Eric!" Jake whispered harshly, urgently.

The child was sleeping, that much was obvious from the slow pace of his lungs. His chest rose and fell so quietly, so swiftly, that it was hard to notice. That, and he was curled in on himself, leaning into the crook of the tree between the trunk and the length of the branch. He appeared to be free from the radiation sickness; while brief assessments weren't the most trustworthy, there was something to be said for the lack of red, blistering skin and missing hair.

Eric strode over, hesitant. "What is it, Jake?" The addressed lifted his index finger and silently pointed to the boy on the slightly higher branch. He sent his brother a meaningful look, and then did the same to the two women behind his brother.

"He's asleep," Jake whispered. Eric's blue eyes widened, and he took several steps forward in his shock. He had trouble comprehending that simple statement. Sleeping meant unconscious. Unconscious meant alive. Alive meant... life.

Eric looked to the women. Emily didn't even need prompting, and made haste to grab the first medical kit she saw. The brunette, Heather, drew closer to the tree, watching and waiting. Jake pointed once more to the child, then moved the finger to his lips. _I'm going to try to wake him up. Stay quiet._ They understood the unspoken words.

Jake's arms were long enough to reach the teenager, whose head rested against the trunk. The man wondered how he managed to maintain his balance where he rested; sleeping on a tree branch wasn't exactly the safest place to lose consciousness. But he seemed fairly peaceful despite the eight foot drop, despite the bodies around him telling that he should be in a similar state. Jake touched him on the shoulder calmly.

The response he received was strangely immediate. Ice blue eyes snapped open, much to Jake's surprise. The teen's breathing quickened, and for a second the two were stuck that way. Piercing each other through with irises of steel. Both orbs were filled with tears that threatened to fall.

"I'm Jake," he said quietly, trying to keep the emotion in his voice at bay. The boy was scared. He had to make himself sound kind, if only to prevent his company from falling out of the tree. His company, for whatever reason, seemed less fazed by the height than the man himself.

Tears swiftly escaped the younger's wide blue eyes, leaving wet tracks down his pale face as they traveled. Carefully, he sat up straighter, allowing one leg to dangle from the branch while the other remained where it was. He turned his face away, an arm just as quickly moving to banish the salty trails from it. The action wasn't successful.

Jake wisely backed off by a few inches, giving the boy breathing room and letting him assess the situation for himself.

Emily had since returned, a large first aid kit loosely hanging from a hand. Heather and Eric were staring, expressions both relieved and concerned. About five other volunteers had noticed and were all stunned in their own rights; for their hope hadn't been in vain, after all.

They had found a survivor.

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|**A/N**|

So much for canon. *whoosh* I imagine the first few chapters are going to be kind of a rough start, but things should be fine once I figure out the general ratio of DP:J fans. Just because that'll at least give me a direction- will it make sense to have more Danny? more Jake? less super stuff? less awesome? more explosions?


	2. A Number of Problems

|**A/N**|

Edited the last chapter a little, since I didn't remember to give it a code. Also, italics. Why I didn't notice that earlier, I don't know.

This is a little late, but it is a little longer. Going to blame a spotty internet connection on this one.

Disclaimer's in Chapter 1. Recap in case anyone forgot: I don't own anything. Just borrowing these characters for the story.

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_20 miles outside of Jericho, Kansas..._

_14:40_

By now, the rest of the volunteers had taken notice of the teen. The air was, somehow, halfway tense and halfway relaxed. For some onlookers smiled; but most of them held their breath at the sight of him, afraid that he would suddenly collapse and leave them with another loss. It wasn't hard to imagine at all.

Jake kept his expression as one of assurance, watching patiently as the youth tiredly swung the other leg over the sturdy branch. The raven-haired boy had turned back to face him, eyes locked onto him. They stared. They searched, almost expectant and certainly wary.

He found those blue irises hard to look at, because they seemed so very bright in the shadows cast by the waterside canopy. Perhaps they seemed... a little too bright. The swaying shade didn't appear to dim them in the slightest.

The boy's arm reached up again to wipe away his tears. His attention shifted from Jake to the volunteers; to Heather, and Eric, and Emily. Briefly the still figures that were scattered around Bass Lake caught his gaze, but he soon returned to the first face he saw upon awakening.

"I'm Danny..."

The man nearly missed the words for their softness, though the unmistakable reluctance in them was clear. Jake blinked away what he denied to be tears. _His name is Danny_. He doubted that anyone else had heard the teenager's quiet voice. Careful of his own words, Jake himself spoke.

"We're from Jericho, a town not far away from here," he informed calmly, leaning away from the trunk of the tree to gesture at his friends. "We want to help." Somehow, he could tell that the youth caught what went unspoken. _Will you let us help you? There's no one else to_... His mind adamantly refused to finish the thought.

Danny simply nodded, ebony bangs moving in tandem with the movement of his head. His icy eyes blinked once, twice, before he nodded once more to nobody in particular.

Promptly, he turned away from the man, swiveling around where he once sat. His unseen hands were placed firmly on the surface of the branch, steadying himself briefly before he loosened his grip. Jake had caught a glimpse the boy's back for just the shortest moment before he was gone. And that was because he had already landed gracefully on the soft earth below.

In the time that it had taken for Jake Green to blink, the teen had spun around and dropped from his previous place in the crook of the tree.

He was impressed with the younger's agility, though he was soon too occupied by climbing down himself to think on it further. It was a small thing in comparison to the fact that they had found a _survivor_. He didn't need eyes to see that his friends were still in mild stages of shock... but it was the best kind of of shock that they could have hoped for.

A few seconds later, and the mayor's son had joined the boy on the ground. The lake managed to remain beautiful, with its only slightly murky waters and its soft earth. Though the otherwise picturesque scenery was marred by the figures yet surrounding it, it was a peaceful enough place besides.

Danny surveyed the place around the two, watching the dozen people as they milled about. The majority of them had either dispersed or busied themselves quietly, returning to further examine the bodies nearby. Some yet cast the occasional glance his way, as if to remind themselves of his presence.

He didn't look very strange; aside from the lack of blistered skin, which they had come to expect. He was dressed in worn jeans and faded red sneakers, in a blue jacket equally distressed and a little torn in some places. His eyes, framed by dark circles, returned to Jake, blinking with silent concern.

Jake sensed that now wouldn't be the worst time to voice a question. Looking over at the shorter male, he asked quietly, "...did you know them well?"

"Oh. Yeah, I... I-I did." Danny seemed comfortable with answering, though not in regard to the nature of the inquiry. They both knew that the switch to past tense was never an easy one. "I wasn't from Denver, but I... I found..." He trailed off there before continuing. "I found them," he repeated, "and I guess they found me, too."

Jake nodded solemnly. "A man named Victor came to Jericho. He told us there were others here, people who had survived the explosion in Colorado."

The boy looked away, a sad and thoughtful expression on his face. "Mr. Miller was the strongest of us... even though he was pretty bad off himself. I would have gone, but I... they didn't want me to go." Here he wrapped his arms protectively around his torso, as if to lessen the emotional pain embedded in his words. He glanced back up at the man. "He reached you, didn't he? Did he... is he alright?"

He swallowed in response, willing away the tightness of his throat. He forced himself to meet the youth's eyes, his own dark irises sorrowful. "Victor died this morning. I'm sorry, Danny."

Danny shook his head, and took a deep, cleansing breath. "I should have gone instead," he mumbled. In a normal voice, he addressed Jake, "I wasn't c-caught in the radiation or the fallout. I think I'm safe to be around." It didn't matter that the subject change was conspicuous and honestly abrupt. It was welcome.

"Our hospital's up and running." He then gestured uncertainly, a slight hesitance in his features. "For a while, at least. We can take care of you, if you'll let us."

Unshed tears were evident in his blue eyes. "Yeah, that's... I'll come," he began, his voice heavy with every emotion from guilt to anger to relief. He was furious that someone—or a group of someones—would hurt so many people. At the same time, he was thankful that Victor had found help. That the man had made the effort to save the people he helped evacuate.

It was hard for Danny, the only one of their group that yet breathed. He stayed with them, assisted them for as long as he could. He did everything that he could, and it still wasn't enough. And he felt the guilt because of that, though he knew their deaths weren't his fault... that they could have been called inevitable. The teen visibly shuddered.

"Will you... will you help me bury them?" Jake gazed over at the one standing next to him, slightly stunned. But had their roles been switched, he was sure he would have said much of the same.

"Yeah, of course..." The man answered, shifting his pained stare to the body of a young woman not ten yards away. "...of course we will," came the reiterated whisper. He didn't want to wonder whether she could have been Miller's daughter. He wasn't sure if they'd ever know all of their names.

But even if they didn't know, they would never forget.

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_Jericho, Kansas..._

_20:50_

Jericho mourned. That much was solemnly reflected in the service they held that evening. The mayor, Johnston Green, stood behind a simple, wooden pulpit; grieving the ones they had been unable to save.

They had no electricity, and consequently had no modern lighting, but the darkened atmosphere seemed better suited for their lamentations. Candles were strewn around the church. Most were in candelabras, some in simple holders, all illuminating the space with humble glows. They flickered, the twitching flames casting shadows on the walls.

The stage of sorrowful quietude had been set for some time now. Residents of Jericho had taken their seats in the pews, resting and listening. Their leader spoke, his words echoing just enough through the small building to reach its every occupant.

"Earlier today, we buried 20 people... refugees from Denver. People we didn't know, but... were prepared to welcome into our town. Unfortunately, they died of radiation poisoning before we could reach them." The briefest glance was sent to the black-haired teenager, who sat near the back.

"For those people from Denver, and for our own people, for Sheriff Dawes and Deputy Riley, for Deputy Conner and Deputy S-Salem..." Johnston sighed, allowing his voice to waver. "...for people out there somewhere we know nothing about... who might be suffering and dying right now; I ask that we take a moment of silence."

The moment was easily given. The people of Jericho had done so before, and they would do it again. They would give more than one moment for the fallen that night.

"If you've lost a loved one... would you please stand?" The speaker looked knowingly at some in the front rows. Danny, though he was seated behind the majority of the townspeople, stood silently. He had lost more than one person dear to him. Perhaps he had lost more than most around him, but his stance was no different from theirs.

The unspilled tears in their eyes told the teenager of how much they truly cared, despite the fact that his group had been little more than strangers to them. This town had suffered their own losses; many stood in near unison with him. In the back of his mind he wondered how much of the United States was affected by the attack on Colorado.

"If someone you love is missing, would you join those standing?" With some form of hollow amazement, Danny gazed on as everyone still seated did as they were asked. There was not a single person left who was not standing; all were mourning, and now all stood together.

Johnston continued, voice gentle and assuring. "We stand because we know that every life matters." A few deputies nodded in agreement. "We have to fight for every life, even when it seems hopeless, even when we're afraid, because the battle ahead isn't just for our survival... it's for our humanity."

If anyone knew anything about humanity, it was Danny. He was well aware of that conflict; not only had he been constantly fighting in it for nearly two years, he had experienced the worst and best of humans himself. Some were so inhumane, it was almost unbelievable... though he knew that history had brought forth even worse men than they.

But many displayed kindness, kindness not unlike the compassion that Jericho had extended to him. They were the type of people that Danny hoped for and had hope in, for it would be they—not the warriors, or the governors, or even the government as a whole—who would carry their country through their suffering.

Suffering was another thing Danny knew. It appeared to follow him wherever he went; suffering, but death also never seemed to leave his side. Though death was, for Danny, irrevocably unavoidable in the most literal sense of the word.

He wouldn't deny the wetness of his face. No matter how hard or often he scrubbed at his cheeks, he wasn't able to stop his tears. He supposed that everything was finally catching up with him. After all, this was the first time he had really stopped to think about... everyone.

Home. Amity Park.

His family, his friends. He missed them more than words could possibly express. The heart that beat slowly in his chest ached with longing for them. The few breaths he took would hitch and catch in his throat at the thought of them; and now even more so for the men, women, and children he had traveled with. Danny missed them as well.

Would he ever make it back home? What would he tell them?

"I"m sorry, Mom, Dad." His unheard words were whispered as the memorial came to a close. Still standing, he pulled his worn, blue jacket closer. He turned and left, trailing behind the people around him that walked out the front doors. Most had tears visible even in the darkness.

The Jericho townspeople wielded flashlights and lanterns while they exited, each brightening the street they traversed with swinging, sliding circles of light. Jake had stopped a few feet off to the side, watching as every person passed him by. Danny stumbled over to meet him.

"Hey, Danny," he greeted calmly, not having changed out of the army green shirt he had worn earlier. The teenager took an uncertain step closer.

"Jake, um... I-I have a question."

The man looked at the youth, interested in what the question might be. Absently, he adjusted his posture. He tried to look encouraging. "Hey, it's all right. Go ahead."

Danny's right hand reached to rest at the back of his neck, a habit that showed itself whenever he was nervous. "Did... do you know how much of the States was affected by what happened in Denver?" At Jake's unmoving gaze, he continued, looking away. "I mean, it's just..." The hand fell limply back to his side, where he moved it again when he folded his arms.

"They... the refugees never met any other people. Never ran into g-government, or soldiers... I thought that what happened to Colorado was so very wrong, but were there... were there other places?" When the words were spoken aloud, his eyes widened as realized just how possible the scenario was. It would be devastating, but he had to know. "Was that why they never got help?"

He finally looked up, tears renewed, only to be met with the man's horrified expression. "You don't..."

"Jake, I... I asked, but they didn't know. Miller led them out, but I never asked _him_ and I..." He swiped at the salty tracks down his face. "I didn't want to think about it."

Jake turned away, taking a moment to breathe. He didn't want to think about it, either. There would never be a proper time or place to discuss this. What had happened could never be reversed, and it could never be forgotten.

The air was tense and suspenseful, and he knew he should be the one to break the silence. But it wasn't just broken. It was shattered. Nothing less could be expected when speaking of nuclear war.

He exhaled, voice burdened with emotion for the umpteenth time that day.

"Ten."

The word was so insignificant when it didn't carry the weight of at least thirty million lives. And that number was only a rough estimate. "We think there were about ten cities," he reiterated sadly. He kept his eyes closed and tried not to look at Danny. It was like trying to explain to someone with memory loss that September 11, 2001 was not just another date on a calendar.

Danny feared what would happen if he screamed right then and there. He kept it in. He covered his mouth with both hands. His icy irises were clouded with a sudden sorrow that he knew he wouldn't be able to hide forever, but he tried anyways.

And for one alarming moment, he felt himself flicker out of existence. He felt his heart skip a beat... perhaps it was three. And then he faded back into visibility just as his company returned to face him.

"It's all..." Jake wasn't able to finish that sentence truthfully. "It'll be... we'll get through this. Alright? We'll find a way." Not knowing what else to do, he moved forward to envelop the teenager in a swift embrace. Danny didn't mind the brotherly action, despite its awkwardness, and returned it fleetingly.

"You're safe," he said, reassurance in his words as he stepped back. "Now, let's get going. There's a room for you in the Green home, and Mom's not going to be happy if you don't check in."

It didn't matter that the subject change was conspicuous and honestly abrupt. It was welcome.

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|**A/N**|

Did you see a reference to another TV series? I didn't...nope, nothing to see there...

And in case anyone's wondering, yes, I am shifting the DP timeline forward a few years so it aligns properly.

Last but not least: while I don't exactly have titles yet, I will be sticking in a string of Morse code at the beginning of each chapter. (Jericho-style!) They'll serve as hints/likely not but maybe spoilers for what happens in that chapter. Some things might not seem completely relevant, but they should... Eventually.

(This is the drama part, cos everyone's kind of messed up at this point. Funny, joke-around adventure part coming in the next chapter or so. Probably.)

_T__o the_ (/tries not to say 7th) _Guest_: Thank you. Hopefully this satisfies.


	3. Different Responses

**|A/N|**

**Merry Christmas!**

_Thanks for taking the time to read thus far. Now, shouldn't you be off eating holiday cake somewhere?_

**Disclaimer**: Geisted currently owns a blanket. Note that Geisted has definitely not claimed to own Jericho or DP.

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_00:42_

Danny Fenton found that he could not sleep.

It wasn't the bed's fault; though it was far too comfortable and different compared to the tree he had slept in before. He couldn't say it was the room that did it, either. Nigh paranoid, he'd triple checked for anything even narrowly resembling a listening device or a camera. Finding nothing did nothing, except perhaps unnerve him more.

But none of that prevented him from sleep, and he knew why. There were several factors, really. Some of them more recent than others.

The teenager sat up from under the blanket for what seemed like the hundredth time, releasing a frustrated grunt as he did. Danny was pretty sure that his place in that one tree had allowed him the most rest he'd had in months. Which basically meant that he could never have enough of it.

He fell back onto the bed again. Lifted his blue eyes to his—well, technically,_ the—_bedroom window. Danny guessed that dawn would arrive in a few hours or so. He wasn't exactly sure what time it was.

"Might as well do something productive," he muttered to the empty air. He sat back up. One hundred plus one. That much math he could manage at this late (early?) hour.

The bedroom was plain. Nondescript except for the fact that it seemed to be decorated in favor of a male occupant. It was probably an old room of Jake's, or his brother... Eric. Yeah, Eric was the name. The Greens were kind enough to lend the space to the teen.

He briefly wondered if all sole survivors received such special privileges.

And there went his partially-not-pessimistic mood. He could practically see it as it sailed, panicking, out of the window. Both the proverbial one and not.

A part of him wanted to lie down again, try in vain to fall into a state anything less than wide awake. He shoved it forcefully away. There was no reason to sit around here doing nothing. There was an entire town out there! People, places. Shops, certainly.

Danny didn't have any money to speak of, but he didn't care. And there probably weren't any stores open this late (or was it early?) anyways. He was still anxious and still didn't care about those two facts. What about the shopkeepers, were they safe? Or were there shop_lifters_ walking about?

Knowing that so many people had already died without any intervention on his part made him tremble. After he was told about what had happened to those in Colorado, he very nearly had a heart attack. Or maybe he actually _did_ have one. Either way, someone up there really wanted his existence to question itself.

He tried quite hard not to think about that little... episode, from earlier. Or whatever it could have been called. His chest still hurt whenever he thought about it.

More awake than before, he tossed the blanket aside. He stumbled off the bed. What he was currently wearing had changed very little from the day before. And if he was being pessimistic, the same could be said of his mental state. Quietly, and now kind of urgently, he slipped on his shoes, just as quickly turning to escape out the window.

The night was cold, and he could see his breath.

* * *

_09:11_

From his place on the floor, Danny stirred. His tired orbs of very much worn sapphire blinked open, gaze swinging about the room, attempting to discern the noise that woke him. It faintly emanated through the walls with a slight echo, one that he probably shouldn't have been able to hear as clearly as he could.

It was a trilling sound that came from another part of the house, most likely from the living room or the kitchen. The sound was not man-made, that much was certain. Electronic, from a machine? But Jericho had long since lost its power grids...

...so why was the phone ringing?

Alarmed, Danny shuffled out from under his makeshift bed on the ground. As it turned out, the bed had been a bigger part of his sleeping trouble than he thought. At least, that was what he tried to tell himself. He didn't like the idea that he couldn't rest because he was _used_ to not resting. Or any of the alternatives that could have caused the problem.

_Yeah_. He definitely did _not_ want to go there right now.

In his state of sleep deprivation, the teen had forgotten to take off his shoes. That only aided his speed in rushing out the door and towards the main area of the home.

Silently, he arrived at the living room, assessing the situation and listening to the ringing. It was noticeably louder now and there was a distinct tension in the air.

Johnston Green, the mayor and owner of the house, stood near the kitchen; not far away from where the teenager observed. He was with his wife, Gail, and they both stared at an object in the former's hand. A telephone, Danny assumed. The man decided to answer the call.

"Hello?" He asked, urgency and uncertainty equally present in his tone.

"_Hello. This is assistant secretary Walsh from the Department of Homeland Security. Do not be alarmed_."

The message crackled, easily heard even from where he stood. It was probably pre-recorded, automatically sent in the case of an emergency. Danny was relieved that at least _something_ was working properly in this country. He really, really wanted to know how everyone else was faring after the—

"_If you are safe, stay where you are. Do not attempt to leave. We will be in contact again shortly. Until then, know that help is on the way_."

There was a short tone and then it repeated. He was wondering why, questioning the sudden appearance of electricity when the Green couple noticed him standing by the doorway.

"Good morning, Danny," Mrs. Green greeted, a little flustered. He gave a tiny, hesitant grin, even while he was internally debating the truth of that statement. He hadn't found his way back to the house until sometime after 5:30.

The town of Jericho was so distractingly normal after the apocalypse. He couldn't help but poke around for a while, making sure that there weren't any would-be murderers or anything similar out there. And he had to admit, the night sky was pretty distracting in and of itself.

Johnston turned off the phone just as the robotic voice began to repeat the message again. He turned to his wife. "I'm heading to Town Hall. You should stay here, keep an eye on things." He made sure to acknowledge Danny's presence with a knowing nod. Then he walked past the teen in the doorway, intending to leave the house for his mayoral duties.

Danny tiredly approached Gail. "The town's... got power?"

"Yes, for now. Thinking quickly, she add, "I'd appreciate some help taking advantage of it while we can." The hint was given with a kind smile. He only nodded enthusiastically, blinking away sleep, more than willing to return some of the kindness they had shown him. Even after his short trip around the Kansas town, he still felt mostly useless. And he absolutely hated that.

The woman with short, red hair seemed to realize how he was feeling. She gave him a list of things to do: look for phones, walkie-talkies, and their chargers; test the house lights; search for the family vacuum if he had extra time. Almost greedily, he took in the information and memorized it. They might have been almost meaningless tasks. He mentally hand-waved it; having electricity was rare, right?

Mrs. Green was going to check on their horses. Danny was about 75% sure he could finish his tasks before she came back... without cheating, naturally.

After she left, he grinned to himself. They trusted him to be alone. He'd make certain that trust was not wasted on him. Maybe he could dust or something as well...

* * *

_11:38_

The large animals had been fed and watered; secure and safe where they stayed in their barn. Job finished, Gail returned to the house, interested to see what their guest had accomplished while she was away. Also, she could tell that Johnston harbored a minor amount of distrust towards the boy.

She wasn't one to ignore a wise judgment on her husband's part. But she was someone who would encourage true trust where she saw fit. Leaving Danny by himself felt like a worthy challenge. If all was well when she came back, then that was that.

Somehow, he'd managed to take a place in her heart. Perhaps it was his situation; all alone, having witnessed so much death. She knew she shouldn't coddle him, for even after everything else, he was a teenaged boy.

In all actuality, the woman wasn't entirely sure what she should be doing for him. Though it was beyond true that had never stopped her in the past.

It was an interesting thought, but more than once she had found similarities between her son and Danny. He nearly reflected Jake in a few ways... for starters, he examined his surroundings with extra care just as the other did. His walk and stance reminded her of both her son and her husband; for they were something similar to what was found in people experienced with fighting.

Cautiously, she paused her thoughts and stepped through the front door, soon closing it behind her. Inside, the redhead could hear neither the youth nor any signs of life.

There was a small assortment of devices on an end table, all hooked up to their chargers, which were connected to an outlet in the wall. The living room looked to be completely free of dust—had he dusted? Their TV set was on, and a single message was displayed on it.

EMERGENCY

ALERT

SYSTEM

— PLEASE STAND BY —

She set that aside for another time, in favor of a familiar vacuum that was at rest in the corner. It wasn't plugged in, and the carpet seemed like it was in the same state in which she remembered it. But the woman couldn't not smile at the teenager's diligence. He had done a good job with his list.

As she took a hold of the cleaning machine for herself, she hoped the boy felt like he was closer to belonging in Jericho. Who in his situation wouldn't feel misplaced?

Danny appeared at the base of the stairs. "Oh, h-hey. I was, um, gonna get that—"

Gail replied before he had the chance to finish. "It's fine. You've done great work so far, and... it's my turn." A pause, and then she added, "You know, you look like you could use some rest..." It was the truth. While her guest seemed better off than he was earlier, the bags under his eyes hadn't faded at all.

Danny blinked, as if surprised by her concern. Then he shook his head lightly, looking sheepish. "Y-yeah, I know. But I don't think I'm ready to sleep yet..."

"Well, as long as you know." A short sigh. "How do you feel about going into town?"

"I, um... I think I will. Today, I mean. Or now, if you don't need me. Just to see it." _In the daylight_, was added mentally.

"By yourself?"

The teenager took a few seconds to think about it. "Yeah," here he nodded, assuring, "I'll be fine."

She smiled. "I'm sure you will." Voice now halfway stern, she continued. "You come back safe, now. I already have three children to supervise." And then she was amazed at the brightness of the grin she had been able to coax out of him.

His smiling eyes darted about the room. Decision made, he waved simply in the affirmative and headed out the door.

"Well, that was interesting," Gail commented to herself.

* * *

**|A/N|**

_To Ethan Demas_: I guess so? Danny's was a combination of some sort of ectoplasmic radiation and electricity, which makes the accident (and him) unique. Plus, in this story things might be a little different.

_To (the 7th) Guest_: Glad to hear it!~


	4. Electricity Is Overrated

**|A/N|**

You're reading this! I'm honored.

...and also a little bit scared.

**Disclaimer**: To quote someone wonderful, "I feel like I could quit writing these, but I'm too paranoid to stop."

I own the equivalent of a zero being sucked into a black hole. Except the black hole's second cousin. That is mine.

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-.- - | - - - | ..- | -. | - -. | -... | .-.. | - - - | - - - | -..

* * *

Danny wasn't sure how he was supposed to act around anyone in Jericho. Or at all. But that was understandable... he was still processing some things. He kept himself busy on purpose—if he had quiet, he had room to think about events he didn't want to think about. Like how he was there to watch the last breaths of twenty people. Twenty friends, really.

Occasionally, he'd pinch himself because no matter how hard he tried to accept what he'd been told, a part of him didn't think it could be true. He didn't want to believe that he was incapable of protecting people. Far, far from it. Now he felt obligated to prove otherwise.

The teenager would have tried to deny that he went looking for trouble last night. The town was too normal to be in the middle of a nationwide, perhaps even global apocalypse. They were lucky to even be alive, but here they had some resources and even a little protection. The local police force was quite small but loyal.

Danny could almost pretend that millions of people hadn't died. Sun still shining, the wind still invisibly sweeping through its course. It was weird. It was nothing if not weird, surreal, and honestly unnerving.

Well, at least they were alive. Surviving, and they hadn't been reduced to mindless fighting, rioting, and looting. He wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but... he knew that everywhere couldn't possibly be like this. Maybe Jericho was outside the reach of the... explosions, the fallout. Maybe they were as blessed as that. (Danny also wasn't one for mathematical or geographical problems.)

And now the town, his temporary haven, had power. Temporarily, at least. That was good news, albeit a small victory in spite of everything.

Danny admired a group of children at play in front of the library. The young ones probably didn't understand what was going on. Good for them. But they were having fun, running around, carefree and lively. For a second, the teen even wanted to join them.

The moment was peaceful, and for the first time in months, Danny smiled. Gentle wind ruffled his black hair, likewise causing the library's flag to sway in time with the breeze. The brick structure reminded him of Casper High, his own school in Illinois.

His smile faltered, shining blue eyes now glinting with suspicion. There was something... not right in the atmosphere. Something was coming. It felt like a small shockwave, unseen and unheard.

One second later, and a power spike sent sparks flying from the roof of the nearby building. The flares were joined by fire, which sprouted from the source all too easily. A long power line snapped from its place high above and landed on the concrete with a loud _crack_.

Chaos naturally ensued, consuming the youths with fear and the adults with panic. Distressed cries of "Go, go, _go_!" and "Hurry!" reached Danny's ears all at once, combined with the fact that some of the kids needed help getting away.

Danny's legs had carried him halfway across the courtyard before his mind completely registered what was going on. His thoughts in that moment were as simple as this: _Fire—arson, electrical, supernatural?—Can't let anyone get hurt_.

Heather... Lisinski, Lisinski was her name—was in the immediate area, which made sense to him because she was a schoolteacher, after all. Only now she was anxious and trying desperately to calm the children down while getting them farther from the front of the library.

It wasn't hard to tell that some of the kids were acting less than composed. Danny singled out one he knew by name—who also happened to be particularly scared.

"H-hey, Peter!" He was instantly the brown-haired youth's center of attention. Running closer, he grabbed the younger's shoulder, urgently steering it in the right direction. "Peter, it's okay. You're gonna be fine. But you've _got_ to get away from here first." Danny gave the boy the slightest push, and then took off for Heather.

The teen did his best to avoid running into the other kids who were dashing to safety, focused on making his way over to the red-headed woman and another cause for concern: her friend, Emily, was down.

"Emily? Um... Emily?" Heather repeated, searching for the unconscious woman's heartbeat.

His stammering tongue conveyed every ounce of nervousness he felt for their situation, for their safety. But his stance told of not a single teragram of fear. "W-what happened to her?"

"I don't know. There was the power spike, she must have gotten hit by the wire, or the voltage." As if on cue, another round of glisterless sparks showered around them from the source of the fire. Heather cringed next to the prone figure of her fellow teacher.

Danny kneeled, assessing the damage done for himself. "It doesn't _look_ like a heart attack," he winced, "but we gotta keep an eye on her pulse." His own heart was beating a little faster than was normal for him. There was something else bothering him, something disturbing his core; but he ignored it, mentally pushing it away.

The simple fact that someone had gotten hurt while he was around ate at his thoughts. There were at least a dozen children at risk here, and that greatly worried him.

The redhead nodded. "Yeah, I agree." Jittery, she brushed her short hair behind an ear. Her eyes darted back up to the schoolchildren. Most had calmed down, but they all stuck together in a close group out of fear. "Everyone!" She addressed them, "Do you remember the emergency drills we did at school?"

Reluctant nods and hesitant noises were all she received. That was enough for her. "Okay. Go find your buddy, and go sit behind the fence. _One, two, three, go!_"

The next thing she did was a head count, surveying each mop of hair, identifying the kids by their clothes and faces. "Where's Ashlee?" Heather asked suddenly.

Confused, the nearby Lucas answered, "She went to get Alice."

"Alice? _Alice In Wonderland_? Inside?" The dread present in her features set the teen on edge. A small sound of confirmation was all she needed from him, and she got it.

_Oh, no... no, no, no_...

"Um, Danny, stay with Ms. Sullivan! I'm going to—"

"No!" He yelped before he could stop himself. "I-I mean, let me go. I'm faster, and I have a little experience with burning buildings." Darn his brain for not coming up with a better reason. That last bit slipped out on accident. Maybe he didn't work as well under pressure as he first thought.

Sounds of an ambulance and the fire department's emergency response team reached his ears. A few more seconds would pass before they reached hers. "Look, help's on the way now." With more confidence, he stood and said, "If she's in there, she needs help. I'm going."

Heather gave him a disapproving look, but the ambulance appeared just down the street. Quickly, she also stood, grabbed a teacher who was watching over the children by the fence, and told them about Emily's condition. She was beyond worried, and for good reason.

She knew the teenager had been through way too much already, and he didn't even know half of what was currently going on in the world. The schoolteacher turned around, expecting Danny to have followed her. She was going to try one last time to convince him before she stormed the castle for herself—

—Danny was gone.

"Danny?" There was no sign of him around the courtyard.

"_Danny_?"

"DANNY!"

..._Shoot_. How did he...?

* * *

"Okay, Fenton, you got this. You're good, you're good, you're perfectly fine, it's just a little fire!" An awkward mantra formed on his lips, mumbling, occasionally gaining volume.

It'd been, what? Five minutes since the power spike? Flames were already everywhere, licking at the shelves, tasting the books and devouring their pages slowly. Small, unidentifiable pieces of stuff fell around him, more than likely parts of the library's architecture trying to do him in. If only they knew they were just a tad late to the party.

"Ashlee? Ashlee?"

He tripped over a fallen something. The ash clouded the air, the heat warping the area too much to easily tell what it was. Danny didn't care about what he was stumbling over; he cared about this Ashlee. This girl maybe almost dead failing core pulsing poisoning him from the inside out—

Pressure and him would never get along, would they?

"Ashlee!" His cries continued. In the back of his mind, he was glad that Ms. Lisinski hadn't come in.

Another something fell sharply in front of him, accompanied by hot flames and an unpleasant smell. In response, he yelped, jumping back into a steadier stance, pointing a hand at the object. His palm was surrounded by a fading blue, an icy smoke likewise dissipating.

Whatever had fallen was now covered in a tiny pile of snow. Almost instantly the snow melted, thanks due to the suffocating warmth around him. Danny was sweating, now more anxious.

_That's the first time I've... since_ they—

His thought was cut off abruptly by something... something in the air. Mentally, he shushed himself, thinking through what he had heard. Or what he had _thought_ he heard. Actually, there were many things bothering him at the moment, but he chose to focus on the one he thought was most important.

"Ash—" Danny stopped himself in time to hear a faraway response. An ear of his twitched.

Immediately, he sped for the nearest wall, reached for the door handle, and turned the knob. Its reply was found in twisting, but only halfway... it was locked. And it was burning his hand. He released his grip, knowing that not even the tumblers and pins of the lock had been spared from the heat.

Someone was still crying on the other side of the barrier. On top of that, there was something else still bothering him. These things combined spurred him to action once again.

Strange ice pooled around all ten of his fingers, thinly shielding them and his palms. He stepped forward and gripped the handle again, but with both hands this time, bracing a leg against the door, ready to pull it open with all of his strength. He knew it was possible, but it might take a few tries...

...he let go, internally kicking himself. Five seconds wasted on a stupid idea. What was that about working under pressure? The teen was shaking now.

Instead of attempting to destroy the lock, force the knob, or the door itself down, he chose a different tack. His body adopted a see-through quality, and he simply stepped _through_ the obstacle. Much easier done than said.

Danny had stepped into a large room, yet a smaller section of the library dedicated to children's books. The colorful decorations told of this, and the atmosphere would have been exceedingly more cheerful, if not for the destructive flames just outside.

There were two more doors leading out of this space. Both were closed.

"Ashlee! ...Ashlee?!" He stuffed a few pillows in front of the space between the door and the ground while he hoped for an answer, knowing to keep as much smoke out as possible.

Then he stopped, focusing his hearing. A second of pure concentration brought to his ears the loud shuffling of fabric and a cough with enough reverb to give him a migraine. _Too much focus_, he reprimanded himself. But he had heard her. She was here, she was still okay, except for maybe the smoke penetrating through the air.

He darted toward the second door. This time, he took the time to sense the temperature of the handle—and found that it wasn't going to scald him for his trouble. He turned it. Again, the knob only twisted halfway.

"Ashlee! Hey, Ashlee?" He knocked rapidly. There was no reply.

And once again, with the slightest shake of his head, he found himself phasing through the wood.

A scream began, and then ended with a round of coughing; Danny knew he'd found the source of his worries. Ignoring the high-pitched sound, he let out a shaky exhale. Relief overwhelmed him. He tried not to think about how upset and uncoordinated he'd been mere moments earlier...

He knelt down. "It's okay, really, it's okay. I'm here to help," the words spilled out of his mouth, "but are you okay?"

Wide-eyed, the brunette girl nodded haltingly, clutching a book to her chest. _Alice In Wonderland_.

"C'mon. Let's get out of here." The teen offered a hand, pleading her with his eyes to take it. If she didn't, there were other ways to save her... though he grew less and less sure about the situation the more he thought about it. Multiple somethings were still itching at the back of his mind.

Small but strong, she placed her hand in his without hesitation, which surprised him. But he was all the better for her trust. As he strengthened his grip, making sure it was secure, he smiled. Then two things happened.

Danny could see his breath. Despite the heat flooding the room, despite the flames he could practically feel at his neck, an icy cloud left his mouth. A shiver ran up his spine, exactly like it had last night. He choked on his own breath, a coughing fit coming forward that imitated the one Ashlee had earlier.

Next, secondly, and last but not least, an echoing voice tore throughout the area. It washed against the patterned carpeting and crashed against the poster-covered walls, resonating with every object in the room. It sounded otherworldly. It sounded desperate. To Danny, it sounded like...

"PHANTOM!"

Needless to say, his hold on Ashlee's fingers tightened.

* * *

**|A/N|**

Introducing someone awesome in the next chapter. *cheers*

A couple of quick things; I relented and decided to put Amity Park in Illinois. It was going to be in Minnesota, but... I have a map that disagrees with me. The map demands that I keep Jericho in line as much as possible. Also, the DP 'verse will get a couple doses of reality, while Jericho gets a few tweaks with my supernatural pen. Makes sense, right? Feel free to shoot me questions if you have 'em.

So, that's chapter four over. Still plenty of unanswered questions, like what in the GZ was Danny doing in Colorado? What about the refugees? Who's Peter? Where's the rest of the Jericho cast? Uh... who was speaking at the end? All I know for certain is that Dann-o's got a lot to sort through. Poor guy.

Hopefully you're no longer "like whaaaaa?", if you were at all.

_To the 7th Guest_: Hey, thank you for the prompt. I know this is a late update, but the document manager gave out on me and I quit trying to make it work for a few days. Now it works and you have another page to read. :3

_To gabby521_: Yeesh, I know. I was kinda expecting people who were only Jericho fans, but apparently not? Haha. I figured I might as well let Danny use his powers in this chapter, since that's probably not going to confuse anyone _too_ much.

_To Ethan Demas_: Thanks for the review and the song!

_To Wooster_: A few paragraphs of conflict in this chapter. Actual, plot-relevant conflict will start come next chapter. This serves as suspense—there're still plenty of characters to introduce, heh.


	5. One More Soul

**Disclaimer**: The same as always. If I did own Jericho, more backstories and secondary plots would have been explained.

* * *

-.. | . | .- | .-.. | ...

* * *

Red blazed at the edges of Danny's vision, blurred from heat and anxiety. The embers fell on his sleeves and hissed at his shoulders one moment, and then the next they were gone as he slipped into intangibility. He noticed none of it.

His mind was too occupied and crowded with thoughts, which had been the case for several days now. And maybe several days was all it took for him to forget what it was like keeping a secret from everyone in town.

A lot could happen in several days. Too much could happen. Separated from his family, knowing things he shouldn't know and then threatened with threats that nobody should have to face. That all happened. And then the world ended, and he hardly knew it.

He breathed out roughly, harshly swapping air for smoke when he breathed in again. Intangibility lent the quality to phase through solid objects. It didn't let his lungs work outside of his normal state.

A violent tug on his right arm snapped his attentions back to his company. Danny was well aware that Ashlee was still halfway between freaking out and accepting the fact that an "angel" had come to save her. Thankfully, her state didn't come attached with hysterical screaming. Danny momentarily pondered if he had all the books to thank for that.

He pulled her along through the burning building, with haste, but also with caution. If a fallen support beam blocked their way, or if he thought it would be better to take a shortcut, Danny'd turn her intangible. He'd do the same for himself if it turned out to be necessary.

The girl, maybe eight years old, didn't ask any questions. She simply trusted him. Although the teen knew that if the situation were less desperate, she would want to know why she could see his breath while they were in the middle of a fire.

It hadn't stopped, the chilling fog escaping his mouth. It should have stopped. Instead it was overreacting, or something, because Danny was really too busy trying to keep his head on straight to come up with theories of the scientific kind.

Still, his mind was like a ticker at the bottom of a news broadcast, constantly pouring out words and phrases in an attempt to cram all of the information in his mind. _Okay, fire. Enemy, not really sounding like an enemy, and actually calling me by name? I mean, what's up with that? Ashlee!_ He glanced behind him. _Still okay. Good. Now clear a path, pause here—pull out a little energy, and.. .intangible,_ can'tbreathecan'tbreathedon'tpanic _you've done this a million times before, Fenton! Maybe not recently, but—geez, it's going off again—is he close?_

Another puff of fog was exhaled, and he shuddered. They were almost back to the front of the library, taking the path of least resistance, and quite literally at that. The only reason why they weren't already safe was because Danny had neither the energy nor the confidence to do any more with his abilities.

"P-Phantom?"

"Crap!" Danny was only just able to say, as he flinched back violently. Ashlee was nearly knocked over when he backed into her.

"Phantom! Oh thank goodness. You're still here. Phantom, I need—"

Danny froze, keeping the girl behind him with a gentle hand. His stance evened out, his blue eyes narrowing. It was as much of a challenge as it was a defense mechanism. His thoughts judged the entity which had newly appeared in front of him, assessing the newcomer warily; waiting for a tell, for something that would signify an attack.

_Youngblood_ floated three feet above the floor, a confused look on his face. His appearance threw off the teen; something was off, but Danny couldn't figure out what was different. His short, green hair flared as it had the last time they'd met. Still he wore clothes that childishly resembled a pirate's outfit—sideways hat and plenty of shining buckles included. In fact, even the cutlass at his side hadn't changed at all.

"I don't wanna fight ya, Phantom." The youthful male voice informed. It echoed around them, bounced off of the destabilized walls and burnt shelves. Repeated waves of the echo made it sound everywhere at once. Somehow the temperature of the general area had dropped, ignoring the presence of fire nearby... for Ashlee, that was a nauseating contrast.

Danny thought about it. The floating child had never been an aggressive enemy—he'd always thought peace could be a distant possibility. Besides, Youngblood liked kids. He wouldn't attack Danny here, would he?

"Alright..." The teenager trailed off, more uncertain than the other. "Can whatever it is wait until after we get out of here?" His eyes darted about the library, drawing attention to his urgency. Having decided it was safe to do so, he reaffirmed his grip on Ashlee's hand, urging her to keep up with him—he made his way forward. Swiftly, he side-stepped the hovering being.

Youngblood turned in mid-air, following the other's movements with his glowing emerald eyes. He straightened. "Oh, I can help with that!"

Green fire spun into his hands, encasing his palms with an otherworldly fog. Ectoplasmic properties within the odd fire served to enhance the color, far beyond the spectrum that humans experienced in life, lending it a strange, buzzing quality. Just so without the acquainted noise; something like poor security camera footage, or a soundless skipping record, if anything.

Before Danny could properly react to the fact that, _yes_, Youngblood was now officially armed and dangerous, the viridian had already been thrown expertly in their direction.

Danny panicked. In reply to his emotion, a shield of similar green flickered into existence around him and the young girl; the shimmering dome stretched, protecting the two, rippling with energy. But the safeguard was, as it turned out, completely unnecessary. It faded away quickly for lack of energy to renew it.

The new type of fire... _didn't_ hit them. It missed, instead scorching the ground. Instantly it banished shadows, burning in a brilliant ring encircling all three of them, blazing with an ethereal tone. Then at once, it burst outward, overcoming the original orange inferno and dousing it, as if the flowering green flames were made of water. And rows upon rows of shelves were soon safe, threat extinguished.

The shockwave shuddered through Danny, distressing his raven hair. In short, he was more than slightly baffled. "U-uh..." He didn't notice the grip on his arm loosen.

"Arr, come on, Phantom. I hate to say it, but I need your help. Just hear me out? Please?" Short as he was, he had taken to floating that much higher. The ghost hovered uncertainly above the teen's head, clasping his deathly pale hands in a bid to appear more needy. He blinked. "Phantom, hey?"

Danny turned his head skywards to look at the young ghost, brain working at light speed. His brows furrowed. "Guess I owe you one, now..." he mumbled. Louder, he said, "Fine, I'll help you out. But I've still gotta get..." He trailed off, having turned back to look at Ashlee. She wasn't there.

"Ash—?" The worried teen lifted his head, only to find that the front doors to the library were in plain view. One was in the process of being slowly opened, by none other than the girl. "...lee."

All things considered, he should have been paying more attention to his surroundings. True, the hungry flames hadn't exactly made navigating the establishment easy, but he should have realized how close they were to the way out. He supposed Ashlee's mind, in its state of halfway-freaking-out, told her it was best to get the heck away from the glowy floaty people with weird colors.

"What is _wrong_ with ye halfas?" Youngblood muttered, tired of not getting a straight answer where he really wanted, and needed, one. "PHANTOM?" Yelled right next to the other's sensitive eardrums, at that. It brought the teen out of his thoughts.

For if that wouldn't have worked, nothing probably would have. Danny's response was to cringe, next reprimanding the young ghost in a whisper. "Listen, I'll hear you out, eventually, I promise. But I've gotta get out of here first, or someone's gonna come in here and try to rescue _me_," he tried to explain, complete with a gesture pointing to himself. He had a pained look on his face, attempting to express how much trouble he was already having. Slowly, the teen backed up, shuffling backwards and towards the doors which awaited him.

Youngblood shrugged, unfazed. "Go ahead. I'll be right behind you. I'll be counting on you ta keep your promise, Phantom." He managed a half-hearted grin.

A beat of silence, nothing but the distant crackle of fire and dying embers to accompany it. Not all of the flames had faded and some were yet growing; still they were safe enough for a dramatic pause. Danny hesitated, but nodded in understanding, choosing not to say anything else, choosing to let his temporary truce sink in.

_Cool. I've made a deal with a ghost. That's never turned out badly._

* * *

Heather had a hand to her mouth, wondering if pacing would help her nerves. Had ten minutes already passed? Had fifteen? Had twenty? Even though the number was of great importance, she'd lost count when the firefighters had arrived.

They couldn't put the fire out. Water and electricity did not mix—and this looked like an electrical fire, not to mention the large, obvious wire that had snapped off. The Greens had been trying to coordinate with one another, shutting off power grids here and there, trying to find an alternate source to draw from. Unfortunately, the nearest grid controlled not only the power, but the water as well. They needed to have the latter strictly without the former.

To put it simply, the sudden gift of electricity was currently more of a curse than a blessing.

But the good news was that April, Eric's wife, was a nurse. She'd come along with the ambulance to take care of Emily, who was mercifully still alive, and had woken up not that long ago.

"Okay, get water—get an I.V. started, and get some O2 in her," April was saying in the background. Heather hardly took notice of the words; though she was incredibly concerned for her friend, she knew that the woman would survive with the help of the hospital staff. With Danny, however, she wasn't so sure. Her eyes flicked from the emergency vehicles to the burning building. Ambulance, flames. Firefighters, flames. Emily, Danny.

She had an urge to dash into the library herself if the teen didn't show up in the next minute. Her leg injury barely bothered her anymore, and she would make sure it wouldn't, if she had to help rescue a life.

"Keep an eye on her pulse, and let me know if her BP drops. We've gotta keep an eye on her." The schoolteacher automatically did a double take, suddenly paying attention to what the red-headed nurse was saying; it was a instinctive reaction, like when one heard one's name in a faraway conversation.

_"It doesn't look like a heart attack," he winced, "but we gotta keep an eye on her pulse."_

She blinked. That was an odd thought.

Eric darted over to her. "We're not gonna be able to get water for another couple of minutes, at least," he said, panting slightly. He placed his hands on his hips, looking uncertain, shaking his head. "You said... there might be someone in there still?"

Heather looked at him, pleading. "Ashlee. And Danny went in to get her out before I could stop him." She looked at the building again, and then back to him. Both of her hands went to her head, brushing back her hair worriedly. "I want to go in. They need help in there—they could be dying, burning! They need help," she asserted, arms fallen to her sides, "they need it now."

The man nodded once, firmly. "I'll go in. Coming?"

But before either of them could make a move, there was motion at the edge of their vision. Unidentifiable until they turned their heads to identify it—unknown until they dared to look, out of a sudden fear of the unknown. Small movement at the precipice of one's eyesight was never a comforting feeling. Who knows what momentous event could be caused by one short, shifting shadow?

It was the front door to the library, and Ashlee came, staggering out. Heather didn't have to be able to read the title to know which book was clutched to her chest: _Alice In Wonderland_. She looked as white as a sheet, and never stopped glancing behind her.

Eric, April, and another firefighter only hesitated for the shortest second. Heather yet stared on at the building, willing Danny to appear from behind the same barrier.

One.

Two.

Three, seconds passed. Heather stumbled forward, just in time to see the boy slip out from the very doors she had been staring at. In the moment that followed, he bent over, hands on his knees, exhausted. She was close enough to see the sweat beaded on his pale face, and how he shook slightly.

_"Danny!"_ She called, relieved and overwhelmed by the simple fact that he was safe. That both of the children she knew were safe. He lifted his head, alert and curious to know who had called him.

April gently handed Ashlee off to another nurse, quickly turning around to check Danny's condition. The two women reached him at about the same time.

"I'm fine," were the first words to tumble out of his mouth, and April almost believed him.

There were scratches prominent on his face, and his eyes were watery from the smoke. But besides his slightly reddened hands, he had been left untouched by the fire. Though he was inside a literal, albeit larger, brick oven for several minutes, he'd made his escape mostly unscathed.

Looking between the teenager in front of her eyes, and the bright blaze still visible from many of the building's windows, Heather had to wonder how on earth it was possible. Then she questioned it no longer; stored the thought in the back of her mind in case it was relevant later, but let it be for the time being. The schoolteacher was thankful for his safety. Nothing else mattered... at least, until she would remember what Danny had said about his experience with burning buildings.

In the back of an ambulance, Ashlee was shivering into an orange security blanket. The lingering feeling of cold, an ice-cold sensation, trickled down her spine... reminding her of all the impossible things that had happened in such a short span of time, things that happened in her books and nowhere else. The girl, wise for her age, decided to keep it to herself. Nobody would believe her if she tried to tell them, anyways. But maybe _Peter_ would listen...

* * *

Not so far away, on the other side of town, a man sat at his laptop, typing. Determined. Focused. He was in the basement of his house; a dark environment, dim lighting. The glow of the computer screen reflected on his face—in all truths, a harsh contrast to the deep black of the room. He accessed data, retrieving messages, reading files. Rare was the moment he paused the rhythmic _click_, _clack_, _click_ing of the keyboard.

His name was Robert Hawkins. And he had been using this laptop since long before the internet and power grids had hummed back to life.

* * *

|**A/N**|

What _is_ up with Peter? I'm not 100% sure, but I like him already! ...Even though he hasn't even had any lines.

(The next chapter, and further chapters, will be longer.)

_To Yes! Guest_: (I love writing cliffhangers, haha. They're so much fun.) I'm going to fit in as much of the Jericho background stuff as I can, but since I can't write in all of it, I'd encourage you to re-watch it. If only because I think it's _worth_ watching twice, haha.

_To the 7th Guest_: (Here, have another chapter about fire. Yay!)

To answer _NathanHale2_'s question: Danny will meet Skylar and Dale soon, but there aren't any non-canon pairings planned. There's still plenty of action to go down, parts of episodes to play out, and then whenever things finally calm... well, if I told you that, I'd spoil the plot. (;


	6. Bury the Lede

**Panic. Writing. Coffee.**

Shoutout to everyone else who's tackling their wordcounts during this month's Camp Nano!

But seriously now. What are you doing here? Get back to it! Come back like, May 1. If you're not flailing around the tumblr Phanbase by then.

I don't own Jericho. I did read through the book of Joshua recently, tho'.

* * *

.- | .-.. | .-.. | .- | .-.. | .. | ...- | . | ..-..

* * *

Snap.

_The tip of the pencil broke. Its end landed harshly on the piece of paper below, momentum from the potential force of writing driving it down onto the unsuspecting page._

_He sat there, in the chair at his desk in his bedroom, face blank. Hovering in a moment of silent comprehension, accepting the fact that his pencil wasn't going to work anymore. If he wanted to keep writing, he'd need to sharpen it. Or get a new one. Either way, he sat perfectly still, afraid that if he responded, his emotions would get the better of him._

_It was just a pencil._

_An eye twitched._

_But it _wasn't_ just a note._

_..._

_He breathed in. Out. In. Out. He could do this. The trash can in the corner of the room wanted to prove otherwise, standing a third of the way filled with crumpled paper and many discarded ideas, but he tried to ignore that. He had a note he needed to write._

_If only the words would come to him. Maybe if he'd been better about his English assignments... well... no. Whatever was going to end up on the page needed to come from him. His heart, or something. Nothing taught in school, nothing learned from an essay. Nothing Mr. Lancer could tutor him in, either—unless he wanted to sound like Shakespeare in iambic pentasomething-or-another._

_The teenager looked down, forlorn, hoping that somehow, words had magically appeared where there were once empty lines. Heartfelt phrases that conveyed exactly how he felt, without sounding cold or ungrateful, while gently crafted with the grace of a poet. But there was no change, no words in existence except for the date, and the little else he had written a few minutes ago:_

To Mom, Dad, and Jazz

_"Three words," he mumbled, "it's only three words." Bravely, he set his standard pencil back on the desk. He replaced it with a pen. Ballpoint. Limited edition. The NASA logo shined on its side, imprinted evenly and with great care. A souvenir from the time the whole family had gone to Cape Canaveral. A souvenir he cherished._

_In ink this time, he traced over the words already written. The shapes of the letters weren't as neat now, but that was fine. If his handwriting was too nice, they'd think the note was forged. Or something._

I love you.

_"Not those three words, Fenton," the teenager chided himself quietly. He sighed. "I really don't know what I'm doing, do I?"_

_He sighed again, a word tumbling into his thoughts. Well, he knew how he would start the note. And, armed with the fear-filled knowledge that whatever he wrote next would be nigh permanent, he continued scribbling in his almost cursive penmanship. The pen in his right hand moved semi-confidently, the ink only smudging a little. Lopsided characters were one trademark of his underused writing skills._

To Mom, Dad, and Jazz

Sorry...

I know this note is sudden. And honestly kind of out of character. I never imagined myself doing this.

_That's... not really true, he thought as he paused, aware and solemn._

It's hard to explain what's going on... this is not something that's easy to write at all. Movies make this look easy. But it isn't.

You're my family, and I really care about you guys. I love you. Don't ever forget. This is not your fault, and this isn't because of you. Not in any way. This is me, and only me. Remember that.

...I'm running away.

But I'll be back as soon as it's safe.

_He pressed the nib firmly down, finalizing the punctuation. Making it official. Ending the lines of words. Danny rolled the pen in his palm... It was an okay letter, he guessed. It needed some work. Though that was what he had said about the last one, and that thing had ended up in the trash like the garbage he'd condemned it as. He'd wasted a lot of paper today._

_Blue irises flicked to the side, glancing at the trash out of the corner of his eye. It was still a third of the way full. Truthfully, it was discouraging. Might as well be filled with the homework of recent days—all marked down with a big, red "F" or a similar grade. Failed essays and assignments, reminding him that he wasn't a very successful person._

_His dull eyes lazily trailed to his left hand, which rested, fisted, on the nondescript desk. It gradually managed to ease out of the angered position, relaxing... opening up a little. He turned the pale, empty palm to face himself, back to comprehending and contemplating something not very complicated. Guessed that the stress of the day really must have been getting to him._

_Danny blinked. He could get rid of it. All of it. It would be so easy, too. Just a little flame thrown into the wastebasket, maybe taking a little anger with it._

_Instead, he exhaled slowly. It was a deep, comforting breath, while he closed his eyes and closed his hand. No, that wasn't necessary. Control it, his mind murmured silently, don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't._

_Watery eyes fluttered open._

_"I can't write this stupid thing again." The admittance came to the abandoned house unsteadily. "Whatever I have now's gonna have to work." That's how he reassured himself._

_The unique writing instrument, once important and carefully regarded, rolled out of his fingers and dropped onto the desk's surface. His head weighed heavy on his shoulders. He didn't want to do this. He wish—well, he'd really rather not have to deal with this. He wanted to skip the whole note thing and just get it over with. Just run away without saying a word._

_His worn, purple rucksack was already prepared, right on his bed. Anything useful that he could fit was in there. Essentials, like clothes and his thermos, some food, some compact weapons he'd retrieved from his parents' workspace. The only non-essential item was a memo written by his sister, reminding him that he could rely on her always... but maybe that wasn't so unimportant, after all._

_... he saw why Jazz wanted to be a psychologist. She was good at it. He wondered what she would say if he'd told her about his plan beforehand..._

_But he was running out of time to wonder aimlessly, wander the unknown lands made up of complicated thoughts. In fact, time was more eager to run away than he was._

* * *

_Present day, 13:00_

Jake didn't know much about the teenager that was Danny Fenton. He knew the kid was young, obviously—but somehow more familiar with the world than most. He knew Danny was lost, so very lost, far away from anything close to comforting, and in a very uncomfortable position.

The man had spent a handful of hours in his presence. At the lake, at the church service, at the house... speaking to him only momentarily, greeting him and then rushing out a goodbye. Also keen to the fact that everyone needed a certain amount of space. Jake didn't exactly look forward to seeing Danny, not wanting to be a grim reminder...

...yet here Jake was, making his way through the front doors of the hospital. Three dangerous fires had only just been extinguished, and anybody who strayed near enough to him could tell much of the same. He'd begun to smell like the smoke that permeated throughout Jericho's air. Well, he had been directly involved in dousing the flames.

Though—as was happening often—it was a very close call. Without the assistance that he had be given, surely more than a few homes and part of a library would've been lost. The mayor's son was grateful for that. But it didn't make him any less suspicious.

"April!"

Luckily, he caught his brother's wife as she exited a patient's room, dressed in standard scrubs. Her bright irises flicked up to meet him.

"Oh, hi, Jake. Uh, Heather just left, if you're looking for her."

The man shook his head gently. "No, but Eric said... Danny was here."

"Two rooms down. He's..." she paused, eyebrows peaking, "actually in near-perfect health." Her gaze then hardened marginally. "Though I did expect a visit from him _yesterday_..."

Jake was close to wincing, even if the comment was made on the light-hearted side. He'd given the kid a once-over after they'd found him. Well, a once-over with a Geiger counter. The ambulance drivers and Heather were the ones who had given Danny a clean—and more importantly, safe—bill of health.

"He—" Jake began to explain.

"—Insisted he was fine? Oh, yeah, I got that part. Feels like he's part of the family already, right?" April pointed out, halfway joking, halfway serious. Knew she needed to say something funny once in a while, if only to keep her sanity. Everyone was well aware of the stubborn streak that ran through practically everyone in town, the Greens especially.

He nodded quickly. "Two doors down?"

"Two doors down, on your right," she repeated, before shoving past him. When the apocalypse happens, hospitals tend to be severely understaffed. This particular building was no exception.

He jogged down the hallway, attempting to ignore the background chatter of patients and worried citizens, which had become the norm over the last few days. During war, there are certain places people go to for answers, for safety; like Town Hall, police stations, hospitals, anything official-looking. Some would ask when it was safe to plant crops again, or if the next rainfall would bring the ashes of other cities on them once more.

He still heard the words as they passed by, of course. Questions; "Who do you think is responsible for the attacks?" "Why now?" "Was it an inside job?" "How did our security miss them?" "Where else was safe?" It was instinct for him to pick up on all of this, but he was just trying to learn to block it out once in a while.

Jake came to the door quicker than he'd wanted. He was prepared to talk—but he wasn't so prepared to see, more so since he remembered how terrifying one of their last conversations had been. The teen had started crying... Danny may have denied it, but he honestly didn't blame the kid. Heck, _he'd_ wanted to cry.

The door was at rest, open. The majority of the room was visible from where the man stood, just beyond the frame. Danny was inside, seated on a lonely chair, staring at a thermometer in his right hand. Jake wondered why, deciding to finally step in.

He knocked lightly on the wall. "Hey."

But there was no response; Danny didn't move an inch, still staring. Either the small object in his hands was worthy of such immense attention, or he was lost in thought. Maybe lost in memories, possibilities. Contemplating, rethinking things he'd already thought. Jake had nearly thought himself to death on a few occasions. In those times, the world tended to take on a repetitive nature. And it wasn't healthy.

The action was repeated twice. Finally, the teen looked up, shaken out of his trance. And Jake was—again, he noted—slightly startled by the brightness of those eyes.

"H..." The younger stopped, taking a moment to remember how to speak. Wrinkled his nose at something. "Hey," he echoed, unsure. His eyes searched an empty section of air for another moment, scrambling for something relevant to say. "Heard there were other fires."

Jake gave an angled nod, sighing lightly. "...Yeah. My brother's house is... pretty much gone, along with some of the South Side," he breathed. "but nobody was seriously hurt." He shifted in his place by the wall, wondering what else he should say. Then, looking at the other: "Heather told me what you did. You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, sure," he answered, a little too quickly. Compared to the length of time required to speak earlier.

Jake raised an eyebrow, voice steady, soft. "You ran into a burning building, Danny."

The teen hummed, sounding as if he could space out again at any time. "...yeah, I did."

"You could've died." There was no reason for a gentle opening. No you could've been hurt about it. These times were serious; they called for serious words.

An extended moment of silence. "...could've..." he eventually mumbled, shifting his gaze to his scuffed shoes, guilt in his voice for the anxiety in Jake's. Blue irises glanced elsewhere, seeming relieved to examine any wall except for the one that was occupied.

Jake thought about how he should respond. ..._carefully_, was his conclusion then and there.

"Listen, Danny," he asserted. "This is a weird time for all of us. We're all trying to sort through this together, but we can't have you running off into danger. I can't. And I hate to say it, but the last thing we need is a death that could have been prevented."

A low, irritated grumble that went mostly unheard. "I didn't die," and for some reason he repeated himself, here, "I didn't. Ashlee didn't either. So can we please just... drop it? Please."

Backing off, the older relented. Lifted his palms in a gesture of peace; mimicking what he did the day they met. "Alright, we can drop it. I just... needed to make sure you knew."

Danny sighed quietly, another sound that ears would have strained to hear. "...Why are you here, anyways?"

Jake noted, to himself, that subject changes were becoming a norm between the two. He understood—it was only fair, and after all—he'd had his own share of avoided topics. Some things shouldn't be said aloud, or at least, weren't ready to be said aloud yet.

"Well, for one, Heather. You do know she was fretting over you like a mother would, right?" He tried a smile. It was as half-hearted as any smile could get, but it was infinitely better than nothing. Danny, having finally looked back up, had a bout of surprise flash across his face. It was soon gone, but it had definitely been there.

Jake's smile became a little more sincere. _Infinitely_.

"...Yeah, I think I noticed. She was pretty... hug-happy." A short scoff, which he probably meant to be a little less obvious. A matching half-sort-of smile crept onto the younger's face.

The man nodded. "She's a schoolteacher. It's in her blood," he said, with a kind of fondness... that the youth easily caught. He shrugged, glancing at the bare décor of the room, taking in what little there was to see.

Something seemed to click with his explanation. He saw it in Danny's features; watched as Danny shifted in the chair, thermometer forgotten, looking almost... guilty. The smile had disappeared. "She sent you," came the weary mumble, gaze averted _again_.

Jake rolled his eyes, even if Danny wasn't able to see it. "Yeah, and not to watch you sulk. Now, for two," the teen swung his eyes at the stress on the word, "I'm also here to pick you up."

Danny blinked.

"The hospital's only for serious injuries these days. And you don't look like you're dying to me," he said, in a matter-of-fact, explanatory matter. He made his point by gesturing from where he stood next to the doorway. His face pretty blatantly asked the question, 'Are you coming or not?'

For some reason or another, the smile returned. _This kid_... was his partial thought as he nudged his charge out of the room. Danny followed very close behind him... so when Jake abruptly stopped a few feet later, the teenager very nearly bumped into him.

Jake beat the youth's question of why they stopped with one of his own.

"...You're not bringing that, are you?"

Danny blinked, slowing for a moment. _Oh_, was probably the first thought that came to his mind. He turned around and put the thermometer back inside the room. Somehow he'd forgotten it was in his hand.

Jake didn't blame him.

* * *

_15:00, not far from Main Street_

Robert Hawkins was no-nonsense. This man had a sharp-eyed gaze and a stare to match. If a person's confidence were metal, then that stare was the hydrofluoric acid that would burn it away effortlessly. That stare pierced into your soul, intimidated it into surrender, interrogated without words or weapons.

Danny knew this because he was on the receiving end of that stare now.

The teen ran through everything known about the other man: he used to be a police officer in St. Louis, before he moved to Jericho and was unofficially deputized here. He was a little unusual, but helpful to the town and its people.

He'd received special training in his field, very serious training. This man and his fighting skills were not to be taken lightly. If anyone in this place posed a threat of any kind to anyone or anything, this man overqualified in pretty much every category.

The first description was provided by Jake during his story of putting out the dangerous fires with the assistance of this almost stranger. The second, by Danny's own brief assessment of the man as they passed each other on the street.

This worried him. But he tried not to show it.

Maybe he should have held off on exploring Jericho in the daylight. Or at least, he should have tried to tag along with Jake, wherever he was going.

Mercifully, the stare only lasted for the slightest sliver of time; perhaps not the definition of a stare to most people, but to him it was an everlasting moment. Too long. He was glad it was already over.

Danny kept his pace even as he walked down the sidewalk, head finally tilting away to look at something else.

The double summits of a nearby building's rooftop, or a bluebird flying overhead. A street sign above him, affixed to a lamp post with a broken arm. Some abandoned travel agency—_Worldmappers_?—on the same block of establishments. Danny used these random things to distract himself. He practiced observing these instead of the people around him. It calmed his anxiety a little.

It was just chance that they'd spotted each other. That the teenager had glanced into his dark eyes as he was apparently trying to decide if Danny was a threat or not.

Well, maybe a greater chance than he originally thought; after all, how many people assess other people like that? _Determine if they have a concealed firearm: jackets, ankles, primarily. The way they walk: limp, uncomfortable, hidden knife, experienced fighter or other? Eyes, where do they look first, how do they take in their surroundings?_

No, not many people went through this checklist of signs. It was tiring, and unnecessary for the majority of the population.

Yes, Danny did all of these things and more. He didn't assess the world like this entirely consciously, but running on a background instinct from experience that rarely faded. It didn't help that he was walking alone, furthering his nerves, or that this Robert Hawkins could probably tell he was at least on the weird side of things.

But by now, Hawkins had already moved beyond Danny's vision, passed behind him, and likely turned a corner. Without the man in his sights, he felt strangely paranoid.

Eager to get off the streets and inside somewhere, the boy ducked into the nearest set of friendly-looking doors.

_Gracie's Market_. It sounded like a nice, kindhearted store. Probably run by a sweet old lady and her family or something. Trouble wouldn't follow him in here, right?

* * *

**|A/N|**

I'm sorry for the fact that the site detests some Morse code characters. When I found this out a few weeks back, I thought up a way around it, but still. Thanks for enduring with me through these blunders. .w.;

I'm also sorry I spent 90 years going over this. I was pretty busy, and it likely still isn't 100%. But thank my Nano buddies for this chapter not taking another month to appear.

Hey, if any campers are present: _this better be the last fanfiction you read today_. There're only four or five days left in the month. Get back to writing! You can do it! :D

And extra apologies if I'm late to reply to reviews/PMs. NaNoWriMo Ate My Soul! And _somebody's_ gotta clean up the grammar of insomniac tropers, right? Haha.

_To Richard Parker_: Youngblood may or may not cause terror in the next chapter. Thanks for the review, haha.


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